Panamanian Streets
Panamanian streets wind and cobble their ways around the city. There is an old man in a hat playing a banjo and singing his heart out. Salsa music and reggeaton are pumping from the modern stores, which sell brightly coloured clothing and silver sandals while small stray kittens scavenge for food underneath park benches.
The buildings are beautiful and old, there are ferns growing between the cracks in the concrete as if to say that nature will have its way eventually. The paint of the weatherboard is worn and chipped away.
James and I walk into a small café and sit down. The elderly are perched at every table, eating fruit and drinking warm milk tea. While we sip at our tea I watch as an old lady pulls out her lipstick and re-applies it to her lips, giving them a lick when she is finished to remove the excess. She then resumes flirting with the old man sitting opposite her.
There is a man sat at the bar who tells us he is the guy who can get you what you want, from marijuana to cocaine to a tour around the city. He is eating a packet of instant noodles he brought in and watching x- men in Spanish on the T.V. in the corner.
A Kuna woman sits on a bench weaving a Mola, dressed in her traditional clothing.
We celebrate because after four days, we finally got our engine working again and soon enough we should be on our way to the Galapogas. A nice meal of sashimi and a cold beer does the trick.
